


Routine Feeding

by Panopticonslaught



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Anal Sex, Consensual, Depersonalization, M/M, Manipulation, Objectification, Ritual Sex, Rough Sex, Sexual Aggression, Trans Elias Bouchard, emotional detachment, insults during sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-05
Updated: 2020-12-05
Packaged: 2021-03-09 21:42:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,562
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27903169
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Panopticonslaught/pseuds/Panopticonslaught
Summary: Elias beamed from ear to ear. He looked simultaneously like Peter had split him from stomach to crown to be hung up and cured, and like he’d uttered a secret password which gave Elias a free pass to the single greatest bliss he could ever experience. The Eye Knew. Peter did not.
Relationships: Elias Bouchard | Jonah Magnus/Peter Lukas, Elias Bouchard/Peter Lukas
Kudos: 45





	Routine Feeding

**Author's Note:**

> Obvious spoilers past S2/S3. Consensual "ritual sex" (sort of) between two men who find different but compatible uses for one another. Not your healthy brand of Lonely Eyes. There's also a bit of self-loathing on Jonah's part if you know where to look for it near the end. Mind the tags.
> 
> I am a trans nonbinary person and Elias/Jonah matches my personal preferences when writing. Terms used for his equipment: folds; slit; hole; dick.
> 
> He is called an "old cunt" (derogatory) exactly Once.
> 
> No beta! I die with my shame intact. Let's feed some cosmic horrors, babey!

Occasionally, The Eye would watch when Elias was sexually engaged with another person. It’s been one of the conditions he’s suffered as an intoxicatingly unwelcome expense for years; the payoff being continued use of the nigh-omniscient powers, which so Crowned him before his gaze was physically shunted from one person’s flesh and bone to another. He did not discuss it, and in fact, spent as little spare time as he could manage thinking about it. Yet despite his best efforts, as expected, it did not detract from the reality that Elias Knows - and The Eye Knows Him.

Elias had only one sexual partner in his little black book who even got close to comprehending the profound extent of his adoration for this frustratingly Unknowable, All-Knowing Thing, and even Peter couldn’t quite wrap his mind around it. How could he? The cold and unfeeling tendrils of The Lonely were so unlike the bone-deep, penetrating Sight of The Eye - such an analogy may as well compare apples to meat. No; in Elias’s experience, there are only a few things Peter is actually good for, and accusatory philosophical remarks about his allegiances are not among them.

The Eye Knew that Peter Lukas was useful to Elias Bouchard in the following ways:

  1. **Peter Lukas was as selfish as he was attentive, which was an unexpected personal benefit.**



It was a sad, damp afternoon where Elias “happened” to be on the losing end of a bet. To an outside observer, as though the Fates had aligned it, Peter chose to make good on his prize by shoving Elias’s front against his desk without ceremony and pulling down his trousers.

If he were to be technical - and Elias  _ delighted  _ in technicalities - Peter’s combination frustration from previous losses/self-assurance from this singular win was a culmination of several months of precision work. Peter understood that he was being manipulated, of course, though this never sapped any of the fun from it for either of them. The cycle would repeat every so often: the standing deal that Elias gets to jerk him around, and ultimately, whenever he finally thinks to permit it, Peter gets to jerk him off. (Or any applicable consenting sexual act, really.)

He felt the pressure of Peter’s meaty, calloused hand on the back of his neck as the other one yanked his briefs down to his ankles to join the rest of his lower garments. Peter hiked the bottom hem of his vest and shirt halfway up his back, and thus his typically favorite picture of Elias in a compromising position was almost complete.

It was evident during the pause following that Peter was contemplating how  _ precisely  _ to debase him for his transgressions this time around. The abstractly eye-shaped drop earring in his right ear, caught between his face and the desk, dug the points of its lashes into his cheek like a kiss. Peter dragged rough, blunt nails over his spine, ending in a sweep over his ass while Elias heard an impatient growl, punctuated by a hard pinch to his outer folds which compelled him to perfectly bite his lip like a porn star.

“Spread ‘em.”

Elias laughed because that was exactly the response Peter would hate. The passive, vibratory, brain-splitting attention of his “god” had barely begun to peel open. Peter leant forward until his inarguably larger presence sloped over Elias’s back, sea-scratchy wool fibers irritating exposed skin. It was an expected display of size and power, on Peter’s part. It was just the way of things. Big, angry man, had to remind Elias that he was larger and stronger. Had to assert his alpha status. Had to leave him no room to move as he bent to hiss in Elias’s ear, frigid lips cresting against the shell. Peter snarled. Elias smelled salt. “I said  _ spread ‘em,  _ Elias.”

“Hmmm,” he replied, chuckling, hazel eyes looking over his shoulder as much as they were able. “ _ No _ .”

Another beat of consideration followed, but Elias waited patiently for Peter to catch up. Bless this awful man, it always took him a moment to remember that there was little he could do to  _ command  _ Elias to do  _ anything.  _ (Not without wearing him down, first.)

And as he Knew would happen, as naturally as they breathed air, Peter concluded he’d hit another frustrating wall. He grunted his disapproval. “Still a stubborn old cunt, I see.”

Something unspoken and Understood clicked open in Elias on the word  _ old.  _ He scoffed bitterly. “Not my fault you still expect a red carpet rollout every time we do this, Peter.”

“I  _ should  _ get some star treatment, I think, for all the work you make me do.”

Elias vaguely feigned insult, his tone bored. “You’ve already won your money and trinkets. Indulging your gambling habit hardly counts as  _ work. _ ”

“Oh,” Peter sneered, “and you think you’ve made it  _ so easy? _ ”

“On this particular go around?” Elias had the audacity to grin. “ _ Yes. _ ”

When Peter pushed all his weight forward, Elias simultaneously felt the stiff tent of fabric between his legs, and the beginning luminary cracks of sacrificial dread in his mind beginning to split apart. He shivered in anticipation - both at being stuffed full of Peter’s cock, and at the daunting, burning knowledge that Something, Somewhere, Knew With Absolute Certainty why he chose this. Why he would continue to choose it in the future, until such time as his luck ran out.

And, really, when he felt the reward was worth the pain, Jonah understood the benefit of accepting the accusation that he would debauch himself for almost anyone if he so preferred.

  1. **Neither party expected emotional reciprocation for the duration of the feeding.**



There was a very specific  _ flavor  _ of fulfillment between the compounding layers of manipulation, blackmail, and exploitation. It was something Elias would confess he happened upon by accident, but the delectably perfect combination of powers at play was exactly the kind of tease that snared Peter in his metaphorical grasp by equal parts desire and disgust. This was a benefit to him personally because there would often be tasks that needed tasking which Elias very much did not want to do himself.

Later, when they parted ways again, his sailor would be free to go about his Lonely occupation while Elias would essentially keep him “on call.” For as much as he allowed Peter to win a bet or two, ultimately, it was never Elias who owed any favors. Peter greatly despised this. Elias knew that very well.

Although his office remained as perfectly arranged and untouched as always, Elias could swear he felt the cool damp of a heavy fog pressing on his skin and clothes. He rolled his eyes at the theatricality of it all, sighing ( _ not  _ in satisfaction, he would insist) as rough fingers pressed him apart, smearing fluids on his dick and back entrance in turn. Rubbing him over with every automatic twitch of his muscles. Sometimes Peter would rearrange him to his liking: kicking his ankles apart a little wider, lifting his ass a bit more. Cracked and work-worn hands pinched his folds until the skin turned hot, infrequently rewarding his impatience with a touch here, a stroke there, or an entire hand squeezing his equipment in full in a display of aggression - of  _ ownership  _ \- that Elias was loathe to admit always made him buckle.

Peter had barely even touched him with his cock and it was getting a little ridiculous. All he was left with at this point was being teased to a sopping wet state and covered in a mixture of lube (from his desk) and pre-fluid (from himself).

“Are you  _ quite  _ ready to move on back there?”

Any time Peter got too close, Elias could feel heat from the other man’s skin, and _sometimes_ - if he was so lucky - Peter’s stiff, fat girth would drag across his thighs, leaving him dabbled with pre. They both knew what this was contributing to, which annoyed Elias completely.

When Peter replied, he dashed away any lingering possibility (if there could be any) that this was anything other than intentional. “Can’t expect a  _ red carpet rollout  _ every time you want my cock in you, sweetheart.”

Elias better turned his head, a shoulder lifting from the desk to accomplish the obnoxious effort of  _ glaring  _ at Peter, who reciprocated with a crooked, smug grin, and nothing else. “Oooh, you are  _ furious  _ with me!”

“I could crack apart the seams in your skull like peeling back an eggshell.”

Peter barked laughter. “What makes you think I’d fancy  _ handing you  _ your fun after you spent the last eight  _ months  _ fleecing me for all I’m worth?”

Elias narrowed his eyes. “I have  _ hardly  _ affected your considerable wealth of disposable income. I know for a fact you never bet everything you have, anyway.”

Peter snorted. He pushed the head of his cock between Elias’s legs, streaking it down the full length of his slit, lingering right against his hole. “You keep up that attitude, perhaps I’ll retract my annual donation to the Institute next year.”

That, in Elias’s opinion, was rather uncalled for, positioned as they were at the heart of the establishment in question. When he scowled, glowering at the other and methodically peeling back the top layers of his psyche, Elias found what was at the heart of Peter’s petty behavior and became crestfallen.

“This is absurd,” he complained. “I Know what you’re doing, Peter, and I think it is entirely unfair.”

With another meaningful, cruel grin, and a line that was far too poignant to be spontaneous, Peter replied: “Beggars can’t be choosers, Mr. Bouchard.”

Elias argued back. “You can’t  _ possibly  _ expect this of me.”

Peter grabbed him where his hands could find purchase and turned him round. The force of being dropped after repositioning had Elias almost cracking his head on his poor laptop that been closed earlier in the middle of his accounting.

“If you break  _ anything  _ on this desk,” Elias snapped in a threat, “I  _ will  _ make you pay for it.”

“And I  _ will  _ hear you beg, if you’re chasing what you’re after.”

Now on his back, ankles over Peter’s shoulders, Elias gazed past the looming figure of Peter Lukas to the ceiling of his office, which suddenly seemed so dark and so far away, his furniture so blurry that it felt the world was melting in his peripheral. There was an antique owl clock at the top of his filing cabinet that was in partial view from his vantage. Past the clock, as Peter slapped his length down over Elias’s dick, Elias felt the needle-sharp lash of his patron flaying at the walls of his skull. He gasped, frozen as The Eye peeled open wider, heart split between dropping to his stomach and bursting from his chest.

In a rapidly escalating point that was fast approaching the crest of their respective meals, Peter could see that Elias didn’t see him, and Elias Knew that Peter understood what he craved more than anything else. And it satisfied The Lonely that there was no comfort in this union, and it satisfied The Eye that there was a bone-deep despair inside its Head at being Known for a needy, greedy, vainglorious old whore.

“Actually,” said Peter, extensively reassessing their positions. He moved just enough to catch his partner’s split attention, and casually worked to push his slicked-up cock into Elias’s ass. “I got work that needs doing.” He declared, “Think we’ll move this right along.”

Elias exhaled a half-choked sob, leaning his head back after Peter had almost absently sunk inside him in full. “ _ Finally. _ ”

  1. **Their coupling placed him in a unique position to selflessly offer his full terror while selfishly soothing it with an old hunger.**



The only repeat problem with their arrangement was that for as much as Peter wanted to leave after his patron had its fill, Elias wanted the opposite, so he could continue to feed his own. Once he was spread open and filled up, it was a scramble in physical negotiations to keep Peter’s attention. This was where Elias was thankful he had at least retained his ability to put on a show, even after so many bodies.

Peter grunted bitterly as he thrust in and out at a brash pace, Elias white-knuckling the edge of his desk, brows knotted tight. “Can’t you and yours ever learn when to  _ stop? _ ”

Elias grinned. He laughed, head lolling back when Peter managed to snap his hips and hit something inside him that sent his spine alight. The angle gave Peter a tantalizing display of his neck where his collar had crumpled from being handled.

Peter made a noise of disgust. “Now who’s the one dragging it out?”

“Don’t see how it’s my fault,” Elias shot back. He cracked one eye open. His iris had sunk to liquid gold. “Having trouble with your plumbing, Mr. Lukas?”

He earned a shove for his efforts, Peter flattening him on the desk with a wide hand over his chest. (He was, after all, very upset.) “Oh,  _ that’s  _ rich!” The sailor snarled angrily, “You’re older than  _ me.  _ By a  _ lot. _ I’m practically fucking a  _ corpse. _ ”

And there it was.

Elias beamed from ear to ear. It was the creepiest fucking thing Peter had ever seen. He looked simultaneously like Peter had split him from stomach to crown to be hung up and cured, and like he’d uttered a secret password which gave Elias a free pass to the single greatest bliss he could ever experience. The Eye Knew. Peter did not.

“A corpse in stolen skin.  _ Yes. _ ” Elias  _ purred, _ “And yet, here you are, finding something ever-so-appealing in the act of sticking yourself balls-deep in whatever hole you like.”

Peter dug his nails into Elias’s chest, nails biting him even through layers of clothes. “You think I think you’re  _ pretty?  _ Is that what I’m hearing?”

In meaningful pettiness, Elias  _ moaned  _ when he was fucked especially hard for upsetting the other like that. Which just made Peter fuck him harder. Which was almost as nice as knowing he still held all the cards in this room.

“Sorry to say, but you’d be  _ very  _ wrong.” Peter argued, “You know how this works. We’re not attracted. We’re just partners. It’s business.”

Elias melted on the desk before his very eyes, regardless, smiling as he felt an answering twitch from Peter’s dick. He Knew he would get what he wanted, in the end, and so would The Eye.

Extending his livelihood had always been about taking what he deserved, for as long as he felt entitled. The fear that someday even his physical attributes might run their course would follow him no matter whose mind he occupied, no matter whose skin he wore - but Jonah found such power for himself utilizing what he had in the meanwhile. There was a satisfaction in being filled so full while emptying himself to a third party so completely. There was a smug satisfaction knowing that for as much as Peter fussed, he Knew, to his participant’s dismay, that Peter Lukas found Elias Bouchard appealing one way or another, sagging bits and all.

“If the only thing you cared for was any random warm body for you to spill in, we both know you’d just pick up another two-bit whore somewhere else,” he drawled. “Come back to the ritual, Peter. You’re almost done. We’re getting bored.”


End file.
